Wielder of The Demonic Flame (11)
Over and over and over I was cut down. This wasn't a mage, but a fucking god. He destroyed me each time I was revived, but each time I did manage to last a little longer. Ultimately, every time I thought I was actually going to do well, I was cut down once more.
I used different combinations to expand the amount of time I was able to live, but the only things I had in my artillery were my magic staff and the sword I had retrieved in the first few rounds. My buffing skills worked like a charm, but each time I died, it was miserable. I couldn't get over the fact that I had actually been slaughtered.
On top of that, with each death, I collected more and more scars. Some faded with time but some were permanent and left a brutal reminder that I was nothing compared to this man. It was almost like he was created for the sole purpose of those asshole executives to watch me struggle over and over while he ruined my perfect body.